Ask Your Heart
by Seis Fleur
Summary: Nico Robin was more than annoyed when Perona was casted as an actress in a play under her production, and perhaps it has to do with her past lover, Roronoa Zoro. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, lovely people. I suck for being in hiatus and I probably owe much of you, another Zorobin story. I've been juggling between work and home and studies, and these past weeks have been eventful for me - I'm taking a decision of moving on to a new life, that's what I need. I'll be momentarily putting my career on hold, focus on my studies, and while at it, pursuing my dreams as a writer. I was grateful for the opportunity of joining a few writers in a newly published compilation of short stories of poem. Small, but dreams starts somewhere, right?**

**'Ask Your Heart', is a lame title, I know. But I hope it'll do, for the moment. I hope you enjoy reading, and sorry for grammar mistakes and probably mixing up tenses here and there. Been forever since I've written anything in English.**

**If some things are not familiar to you, please find the notes below.**

**Oh, I also decided to use Cutty Flam instead of Franky here, because the name itself is too good to be abandoned!**

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**Day 0 – Rehearsal Day**

Although I am currently juggling through a thick paper for my post-graduate roll at a university I have found to be so fond of for the past few years, I am more convinced that art is my true calling.

Nights spent in front of my good old Acer laptop, writing a full length play about a village girl and her dreams of being a big star in New York, finally paid off. It was the cliché _follow your dreams_ plotline in which I injected a tremendous amount of classical Malay and modern New York, to give off P. Ramlee vibe without losing the Tyra Banks touch, but I daresay I am much too proud of it when the Powerhouse Youth Theatre fell in love with my manuscript and decided to put it onstage for a week. I spent two weeks perfecting the musical numbers with the musicians before the two-months rehearsal begins. Being occupied with the production has been doing very well to my own emotional self – it kept me from being lonely and ended up sighing in the shower in the middle of the night like I would usually do.

And all the hard work that followed after lead to where I am today – backstage of Sabaody Grand Auditorium, with the rest of my cast members and production team. I was anxious about how the show would turn up, but being advertised by one of our sponsors, Boho, a seemingly famous 'brand' representing local youth of the state – I even have one of their limited edition t-shirts in one size smaller because my size was sold out, so you know how well-known the 'brand' is to the locals – should fill the whole auditorium.

'Ask Your Heart' is what the play was called, in respect to a classical song by Tan Sri P. Ramlee, which was also the second last song in this musical.

At the end of the full dress rehearsal, I settled on one of the front seats in the auditorium, with my phone in my hand. I had sent out an invitation to my thesis supervisor and her husband, hoping they would show up tomorrow. Dr Iceburg was surprised when she was told that I was doing a play, but she wasn't that surprised either, because I always had my short stories printed out and scattered all around my desk whenever she came into my office!

"You nervous?" Cutty Flam asked, with two beautifully decorated, chocolate covered doughnuts on two pieces of paper napkin in both his hands. He sat down next to me, offering one of those deliciously-looking pastry piece.

The look of it, itself, prompted my stomach to grumble, and it reminded me of the dinner that I've skipped hours ago, and my multivitamins which I had abandoned inside my handbag in one of those backstage rooms with everyone else's belongings. "Thanks. Where did you get this?"

"Mozu and Kiwi went out to get some standby props just now, thought they'd buy us suuuper doughnuts on the way."

"I haven't eaten since lunch. Gah," I said to myself, crossing my legs and readjusted my long skirt with one free hand. That was my trademark ever since I moved to this city, to a new life, supposedly – long skirts, with different eccentric shoes everyday. I was well-known among my faculty students for my how 'hipster' my shoes were, though I find them not 'hipster' at all if I would compare to other several streetstylers around the city of Sabaody Groove 42.

Flam was clearly hungry – he stayed back when everyone else went out for an early dinner, too – when he finished the doughnut faster than I decided where and which angle should I bite so I don't stain my teeth with chocolate. Though so, he did so politely, he didn't look like a glutton while at it. Flam was always so polite, and it was a good complement to his appearance too. He was a good looking American guy, a little taller than me, with kept blue hair, unusual choices of clothing and a kept face. Unlike most American guys I've ever befriended with, he never abandoned his hygiene, he smells good all the time, and that was clear when he wiped his mouth clean before he crumpled his paper napkin and tucked it into one of his front pockets to be discarded later.

Our focus went back onto the messy stage – not props-messy, but people-messy – as our production members and cast members joked away, seemingly having fun carrying those props back to the storage room. "It's already good, you don't have to worry about them screwing up," Flam reassured. Flam was one of my co-composers of a few musical numbers in the play.

"Perona's still a bit pitchy," I commented.

"Perona's fine. And if she's being pitchy, Sanji could cover her up."

"Still pitchy to me." I sounded cold.

"Okay, Nico Robin." He sighed, but kept his voice low. The audience's front row seat was sufficiently distant from the stage, enough to give us a little privacy in our conversation – convenient, because if I need to speak to anyone onstage, I should only have to raise my voice a little higher and the echoes would do its work – but with the noises they made onstage while tidying up, we don't even have to try keeping our voices down to _poret_. "Aw, you've been a little cold to Peronaever since we started this production. Ever since you met her, actually. What's going on?"

I wrinkled my forehead, turning to him. Wrapping my hands around the shawl in my lap, I narrowed an eye dramatically. "Was I that obvious?"

"Well, no, not really. But that's what I've noticed."

I have no words to put it, how uncomfortable I was with her presence. We both turned back our heads facing the stage, studying the actress as she laughed herself off with the other crewmembers – or at least, I was the one 'studying' her. An aspiring, talented, stage actress, I admit, but a voice not that fit for a musical production, somewhere stamina needs to be high and maintained to be moving about while keeping in pitch. The pink, waist-length curvy hair – very unnatural-looking – and the grey-coloured contact lenses that made her look more or less like a Chinadoll, a term I use so often these days only to mention one person, herself, without her knowing. Thin, fair legs – unlike mine, fairly ugly hidden under my long skirt all the time – she had used to captivate audiences in her costumes I purposely have assigned her, and when not performing, she puts on high-waisted shorts and floral skirts cut through her mid-thigh, almost every time. She was so different than me, so much different, and yet, she was out there, being appreciated by people that I wanted to be appreciated by. "She has something that I don't have."

Which lead to Flam shifting glances between her and me, studying the both of us almost so obviously. "You both are different, yeah. She's younger than you by how much… Five years? Yeah. She's an actress, you're the mastermind behind the play she's participating in. Yeah. Between you and I, you're much better than her. I wonder what is it that you possibly want that she has."

But nobody in the production team has interfered in being _kepoh _with my personal life, before, apart from the knowledge that I am a student and a tutor at Sabaody Institute of Archaeological Studies, and that I am from another state, and of course, the stories of my life from no more than a few months before. I'm not planning to tell them either, but Flam was the closest to the topic, tonight.

Maybe I do need to explain to someone how uncomfortable I am having Perona around, and how I disagreed with her being casted into the play but there was nothing I could do when everyone regards her as 'a drop of sunshine', which made me even more disgusted, since I used to be called _that_.

I turned my head sideways, towards Flam, with my voice lowered. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course!"

And I sighed, realizing there would be no turning back after this. A broken piece of history will be revealed and recalled into my supposedly new life, as I closed my eyes, making sure that I'm ready to tell the full story to this handsome co-composer of mine. My mouth uttered three simple words, in which he would understand instantly or otherwise, that was a different story. "She has Zoro."

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**(The Late) Tan Sri P. Ramlee_ -_**a producer, actor, writer, composer during the old Malaysian showbiz industry, during the Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe times.

**Poret_ -_**a Sarawakian slang for 'gossip', which I just _had_ to introduce to you all.

**Kepoh** - a Sarawakian slang for 'busybody', heheh.

**Looking forward to write the next chapter!**

**- Imaan**


	2. Chapter 2

**I know. Bad grammar. Need. Beta.**

**If you've read my multi-chaptered fics before, you'll easily guess that I'm always writing one scene per chapter, hence making it very short. I don't know why I'd always do so though, but I think it's because I'd like to leave people with cliffhangers at every chapter's end? I'm not very good at writing, let alone doing multi-chapters. I guess 'story-teller' suits me better than 'writer'. Haha! *dolphin noises***

**Oh, I wrote a song called 'Trafalgar Law'. It's not about Traffy, though. ( soundcloud (dooot) com (slash) busoshokuhaki (slash) songwriting-trafalgar-law )**

Okay, I have journals to read so I hope you enjoy this chapter. *female seductive dolphin noises*

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I was freaking out.

I didn't need to glance at my watch at all to know that it's seven thirty-eight in the evening, as I could hear the golden bell from a distance, followed by a few of my Shandian production team members excusing themselves for their prayers. Seven thirty-eight. Twenty-two minutes to the premiere of 'Ask Your Heart'. My palms are sweaty. I sunk into a plastic chair while Flam peeked at the auditorium, now half-full, to which I am grateful for.

"Aw, nervous?" Flam asked, toying with a green guitar pick in his hand, a pick that he once mentioned 'a good luck charm'.

I nodded, exhaling through my mouth every time, assuming it would keep me calm. "Very. You?"

"Super, but trying not to pee," he answered, fidgeting on his spot.

The half crumpled piece of paper in my hand, I straightened it out messily to reveal a series of checklists in black ink – a few of us had the same checklist too, but in their own handwriting – in which most of the items are already marked with a green tick. I went through it once more, there was only one thing left to do before the show starts. Twenty minutes is, hopefully, enough to get everyone settled in their positions – the actors, the musicians, the coordinators, the SE and lightings, the audio.

My job tonight, is to ensure everything goes on smoothly.

Ten minutes to the show, I was anxious as ever, and I felt the need to stick by Flam the whole time – being the closest to me in the production team, he was the only one who could ease my nervousness with his accidental humour. I ran around backstage for nearly three minutes in my black long skirt that I chose to style over a grey Bones N Roses t-short and my favourite emerald pashmina shawl around my shoulders, the very basic Nico Robin look.

I was being very noisy, calling up actors and actresses, and everyone else, in their costumes and clothes, for a quick gathering. Our producer, Bon Clay, presented his short motivational speech in much enthusiasm – and a little spin, literally, in his gay clothes – that I actually felt that our little musical show tonight meant the world to us all.

Flam held my hand for a minute, and complained that my palms were sweaty, but then again, everyone is nervous!

Five minutes to the show, everyone went back to their places, standby for the introduction. I, on the other hand, decided that it would be good to join the musicians at their place. There was definitely something so exciting about being surrounded by music instruments and the people who can play them. I had my thick manuscript in my hand, with loads of notes in green and purple ink scribbled on most pages, and the play's brochure stuck out from in between those pages. I picked it out and read it one last time to savour the realization of my little dream.

"Ask Your Heart. Producer: Bentham Bon Clay. Junior producer: Nico Robin." I smiled, though a nervous one.

"Dream come true?" Flam asked.

"Dream come true, definitely."

You could always see the musicians if you are attending the show, because the musicians are always far left, exposed, only one level lower from the wide stage where the play will take place. My co-composer, Cutty Flam, was also the lead guitarist for tonight, joined by Bellamy the rhythm guitarist, Brook the violinist, Bartholomeo the drummer and Usopp the bassist. Standing in their places, rubbing their hands either to keep warm or just to ease the nervousness, I was the only one there who wasn't with any instrument, at all. The tall stool beside the lead guitarist, however, was for me.

We watched audiences filled the auditorium seats, and five minutes to show time, it was nine tenth filled. We watched the audiences spoke amongst themselves, getting excited, fighting over drinks and popcorns with their partners. I scanned the auditorium for familiar faces.

And my heart dropped when I spotted one.

"It'll be fine," I heard Flam mutter in my ear, because our casual voices were drowned by the echoes from the crowd. But that wasn't it.

"Robin?" He called my name again, holding me lightly around my shoulder. "Robin, you okay?"

I snapped the minute he began calling for someone else. He must've thought I had a panic attach when I froze at my seat. I quickly grabbed his arm, and pulled him back. "I'm fine, Flam. There's no need to ask for help." I tucked my hand into the hidden pockets of my long skirt, and took out a transparent, sealable bag with colourful tablets inside it. Unsealing it, I popped one into my mouth. The raspberry-coffee flavour spread around the insides of my mouth, and thought it sounded too ridiculous, the bittersweet tasted slowed down my heartbeat. Sugar and caffeine combined sends calming signals to my brain like nothing else in my entire food history.

Flam recognized it straight away – those coffee Mentos he had often call my _anti-depressants – _and that made him even noisier, throwing endless questions at me. "Robin? What happened? You okay? You saw someone? You saw who?"

I opened my manuscript, the first page, pretending to read it. Heck, I don't even have to, not yet, but I couldn't just dart out to backstage right now, or else Flam would've come after me instead of getting ready for his job for the night's show.

"It's Zoro, right?" Either he was a good one in the guessing game, or that I was being obvious.

I looked up at him, while he scanned the audiences for 'Zoro' whom he had only once saw a photograph of, in my phone, last night while I told him the story after our dress rehearsal post mortem meeting, over a cup of hot coffee for me, and a can of Cola, for him. "Second row. Black and green flannel."

"Oh," was all he managed to say.

"I thought I was prepared. To see him again. I knew he'd come to watch. To watch Perona."

Flam places his hand on my back, almost a gentle pat. "Robin, you'll be fine if you go backstage. But don't go putting poison into Perona's drink. Cola, okay. But not poison. We worked hard for this super shit to ruin it with our 'Holly' constantly visiting the toilet. And with little experience, I doubt her understudy could pull off the role as super as her."

"I can promise you on that," I told him. I was, for a moment, lost. My mind went blank, and all of a sudden, it decided to ward of all thoughts of the play itself, I couldn't even tell how much time we have left to show time! My mind went blank, the manuscripts in my hand seemed like a piece of junk I could just abandon anytime, and to fill the empty spaced, my memory box is being such a devil, recalling all memories I've sworn to myself I never will remember since the last time I cried myself to sleep.

Zoro was a fine, young man, with tanned skin, moss green hair, two deep eyes which appear narrowed every time he smiled a crooked, but beautiful smile, if he'd ever smile without him realizing it. Zoro was a fine, young man, who took my hand and slow danced to my favourite jazzy song on my twentieth birthday. Zoro was a fine, young man, who taught me how to see the stars clearer in the night sky, although they were often hard to spot when you are in a bright, busy city.

Zoro was a fine, young man, who promised me the world, but left, leaving me with a damned thought to myself, that to him, I wasn't good enough for him to fight for.

My phone wasn't silent, but I couldn't hear the tri-tone over the noises from the audiences. Only soft vibrations from my pocket alerted me of an incoming text message. My manuscript dropped, as my heart dropped, when I slid my fingers, tapped the phone screen and read a message from a name I've half-expected to see in my phone messages inbox.

It read, "I didn't know you're the junior producer for Ask Your Heart. I saw your name on the brochure. Are you backstage?" and the sender's name was – ignoring that one period of time in my life where I was obsessed with giving people Japanese suffix in my phonebook – _Zoro-kun._


End file.
